


All I Want for Christmas

by snowkatze



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Christmas, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Mistletoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 14:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13102455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowkatze/pseuds/snowkatze
Summary: Simon and Baz started being friends. Baz still wants something more, but he’ll accept a friendship for Simon’s sake. Then, Simon makes him write a Christmas list…





	All I Want for Christmas

“I think this is what we were meant to be doing all along,” he says and smiles that wicked smile of his. His face looks so alive when he's smiling, with little wrinkles around his eyes. I regret ever wiping it off of his face.

“We were meant to be enemies,” I gulp and tear my gaze away from him. “You were the Mage's heir and I am a Pitch. We were meant to tear each other to pieces.”  
Stubbornly, he shakes his head. He is Simon Snow. There is nothing I can say to change his mind.

“That's not true,” he smiles. “The Crucible cast us together. We should have been friends from the start.”

_Friends_ . I bring myself not to wrinkle my nose. He's smiling so brightly. How can he smile like that at the thought of us being friends? More importantly, how can I  _not_ smile at that very same thought?

No matter what he says, he's wrong. We were meant to be enemies. This is nothing short of a miracle. Friends.  _Friends._ The word tastes weird in my mind. I don't want to know what it would taste like on my lips.

I've had minions, relatives, enemies, acquaintances, annoyances, but a friend? That'd be a first.

A friend who smiles at me,  _like that_ .

I could ruin this so fast. I could bring everything we built so carefully, so gently, down with a light movement of my head, that's how close he's standing right now.

I will ruin it. Three simple words, and how could I not say them, because his hair is spun of gold and so is his smile.

I shake my head ever so slightly, knowing he won't notice. I won't ruin this for him. I will be whoever he wants me to be.

I always knew I was going to die loving Simon Snow. Painfully, heart-achingly, tragically, pathetically. Loving him.

I have come to the realization that I won't die at his hands, that I won't die violently, that I won't die so young. Which raises questions I didn't need to ask myself before. What will I do? Where will I go? How will I cope without Simon Snow?

Except I won't leave him. His heart is spun of gold. I might be immortal, but that doesn't change anything.

I will never love anybody but Simon Snow.

_Friends._ It tastes bitter, yet sweet. I truly am pathetic.

“So,” he says and sticks his tongue out between his teeth. “What do you want for Christmas, friend?”  
“Your soul.”  
“Come on, Baz, I'm serious.”

“Fine, I want... Rosemary, and yarrow root...”  
“That's a bit weird, but fine...”  
“...a rabbit's foot...”  
“Okay?”  
“And the pure blood of a virgin.”  
“For Crowley's sake, Baz!”  
“Exactly,” I grin at him. “It's for Aleister Crowley. We must sacrifice-”  
“Shut up!”  
“Our mortal souls don't deserve-”  
“You don't even have a mortal soul!”  
I stop and look at him. _Right_. Forgot about that. I don't even have a soul. I turn away from him.  
“Baz.”  
 _Right._ Right. What was I thinking? Being friends with Simon Snow is impossible. He's life itself. He could never be friends with someone who is quite literally dead inside.

“I just meant that you're immortal.”  
“I'm not a vampire, Snow.”  
“Can't you stop lying to me? I thought we were friends.”  
“Not that kind of friends.”

“No, Baz. We're not fighting, okay? We don't do that any more.”

“I told you we weren't meant to be friends.”

With that, I stand up and start walking towards the door.

“Why don't you make a list, Baz?” he calls after me. “You like making lists, don't you?”  
I slam the door.

* * *

The last time I made a Christmas list, I was five years old. The year after, I stopped believing in Santa Clause, and whatever I would've fished for wouldn't have fit in a package or under a Christmas tree. And here I am, many years later, holding a pen and a white piece of paper, about to write a wishlist. I'm not actually going to show it to anyone, but not all too long ago, I thought it was impossible for me to wish for anything at all. Now I'm starting to think, life might be kinder to me than initially suspected.

So what do I wish for?  


  1. A soul.




 

Not just anyone's soul, of course. My own one. I wish I wasn't a vampire, I wish I wasn't a monster.

 

  1. A mother.




 

Not just any mother, of course. My own one. The one who died when I was five years old and wishing for anything but her started to seem impossible.

Neither of these wishes seems fulfilled easily. Maybe I set the bar too high.

 

  1. A poinsettia.




 

There was a long time where I thought I couldn't take care of myself, let alone anything else. But I think I can now. And I don't think if I got a plant now, I'd have to be worried that it was going to outlive me.

 

  1. Snow.




 

No pun intended. I really want a white Christmas. I imagine it being like a fairy tale. The snow covering the world, Christmas lights, the smell of fire. And as I'm already so indulged in this fantasy, I add another point.

 

  1. A mistletoe.




 

Directly related to the sixth point.

 

  1. A kiss from Simon Snow.




 

This is ridiculous. What am I even doing here? There's no use in pining after pipe dreams. Christmas won't be magical; it'll be stiff, forced and cold as every year. Being friends with Snow now doesn't change that. He'll still go back to Agatha and feel loved and warm; I'll still go back to my family, and I'll still be me.

Snow is wrong. There is no point in making Christmas lists.

* * *

 

“Hey, friend,” Snow says.

“Hi, idiot,” I reply.

“Stop calling me idiot.”  
“I'll stop calling you an idiot when you stop calling me friend.”

“I'll stop calling you friend when you stop being my friend,” he says and I blush.

I'm about to leave Watford for the holidays, but Snow stopped me at the door. Apparently, he's staying here this year.

“Well,” he says.

“I guess that's good bye then.”  
“I guess...”  
He looks nervous, which makes me suspicious. His hands keep fidgeting, he averts his eyes.

“Do you have something to tell me?” I ask. For a split second, I imagine him confessing his feelings to me.

“No,” he whispers, and then he locks his eyes on me. “Maybe you're right, you know? We weren't meant to be friends.”  
“Oh.”  
I look down.

“I guess we don't have to be friends. I'll just... leave.”  
I knew it was too good to be true.

“No, Baz, I -”   
He grabs my arm. He looks me directly in the eyes before he grabs me by the collar and crashes his lips into mine.

He crashes his lips into mine.

No.

He's kissing me.

We're kissing.

What.

I freeze underneath his touch. He kisses me messily and kind of roughly, but when he caresses my cheek, he's soft.

My eyes flutter close. Then, I push back.

I grab him by his collar and take it in my fingers, as though I wanted to drag him even closer.

He breaks away and I press the back of my hand against my lips.

“Why did you do that?” I pant. A minute ago he said he didn't want to be my friend.

“Look up,” he murmurs, and I do. _A mistletoe._

“You found my Christmas list,” I gulp, my heart sinking.

“I saw you writing it and found it in the trash.”  
“Well, you should've left it there,” I snap and stumble back. “You weren't supposed to see it.”  
“Baz -”

No wonder he doesn't want to be friends any more. Then what was this supposed to be? A parting gift?  
I can still feel the ghost of his lips on mine – the ghost of his hand touching my cheek. I shiver.

“Thank you, Simon Snow,” I mutter, but my voice breaks away towards the end.

When I turn away, he doesn't grab my arm again. I start walking, and I can't help but hope he chases after me. He doesn't.

“Baz, stop,” he shouts. I'm almost in too much pain to obey, but I still do.

“I think we weren't meant to be friends.”

“You already said that.”  
“Can't we be something more?”  
I close my eyes, but I can hear his footsteps. He's coming closer.

“I don't need your pity, Snow.”  
“No, you don't,” he says, his voice beside my ear. “But you do need something from me.”

_Love_ , I think, but I don't dare to say it out loud.

“And I'm going to give it to you.”

I open my eyes again.

“That is, if you'll let me.”  
He's standing right in front of me. He is beautiful. I kissed those lips. He kissed me. And he might be telling the truth.  
“Alright,” I whisper.

“Alright,” he answers, smiling slightly. “Alright, boyfriend?”  
I think I can believe in Christmas again.

 


End file.
